Sorcerybound (World's First Wizard Book 2) by Aaron Schneider (best color ereader .TXT) 📗

he said in that same subterranean voice. “I appreciate your patience. I’m sure it hasn’t been easy, but as you will soon see, the situation is now not as dire as you first thought.”

“I would be very thankful if you’d enlighten us, Marquis,” Milo said as he and Ambrose closed the distance. Their footsteps didn’t ring on the floor as they should have, and Milo guessed there was a chance that some sort of magic was at work to keep the library a place of quiet reflection.

“All in good time,” the marquis said, smiling and reaching down with a long-fingered hand to gather up the books on the table he’d been sitting at. This close, Milo could see the fey’s eyes possessed the horizontal pupils of a goat.

“I mean no disrespect, but I’m afraid that isn’t good enough,” Milo said, feeling Ambrose tense next to him as the words were spoken. “Contessa Rihyani is depending on me, and every second counts. I will do whatever it is you ask, but please, no more delays.”

For his part, the marquis paused for a moment, and Milo felt the strange eyes sweeping over him. Milo couldn’t quite remember if the huge presence he’d recognized before felt the same as the pressing awareness, but he imagined it was close. As the stare continued, he could almost hear Ambrose coiling like a spring next to him. Milo began to wonder if he’d made a mistake. He contemplated making an apology for the abruptness, but another smile, warm and admiring, stretched across the fey aristocrat’s long features.

“There it is,” he said softly, stepping closer, books in the crook of one long arm. “That fire, that immediacy. It is invigorating.”

The towering fey leaned down, bending almost double with no sign of difficulty or discomfort to stare at Milo.

“That’s what this is all about.”

Milo met the goat eyes uneasily at first, the stare striking him as alien and sinister despite the gentle expressions of their owner.

“I still don’t understand,” Milo said, then squared his shoulders and planted his feet. “But I would learn. Please, explain.”

The marquis waited for a second longer, studying Milo, then straightened and moved toward the shelves.

“Since you are assisting the contessa, I can only assume you are involved with the conflict between the factions commonly referred to as the Shepherds and the Guardians?”

“I am,” Milo called after him, the volume of his voice seeming almost sacrilegious in the library. To avoid having to do so again, he moved to follow the marquis, Ambrose at his shoulder.

“Were you aware that I’ve been approached by both parties?” the marquis asked over his shoulder as he began to shelve the books.

“No,” Milo admitted, feeling a prickle of anxiety race across his skin. “I wasn’t aware of that.”

The marquis nodded as he tapped a clawed digit down a row of books playfully before finding the cavity where the last book went.

“I haven’t declared for either side yet, obviously,” the fey said as he slid the final volume home. “This particular situation offers me a unique predicament and opportunity.”

The prickling flared, and Milo fought the urge to sweep the room as the skin between his shoulder blades tingled. He knew Ambrose was doing that for him and would probably do a far better job, so he decided to keep his gaze fixed on the marquis.

“You’re considering turning us over to the Guardians then?” Milo said, the words coming out hoarse and harsh.

“Oh, no, nothing so duplicitous,” the marquis declared, his tone hinting at offense at the suggestion. “You are my guests and under the protection of my hospitality. No, I could win favor among the Guardians simply by refusing to help you. Contessa Rihyani is known to both factions, and while I could justify my actions to the Shepherds as not wanting to get involved, the Guardians would appreciate an enemy agent killed, even if simply by inaction.”

Milo’s fingers tightened around the raptor cane, but he reminded himself that the marquis hadn’t said this was what he was going to do, only stated it as a possibility.

“Is that what Ezekiel and Percy asked you to do?” Milo asked. “Just let Rihyani die?”

The marquis frowned, an odd expression on his long, pale face.

“The Americans? No, they had other interests. In fact, if you are operating under the assumption that they are allied with the Guardians, I’m afraid they seem quite ignorant of the conflict.”

Milo pulled back and narrowed his eyes as he studied the marquis. Seeing no sign of deception, Milo supposed the marquis, who so far had been quite forthright, had no reason to lie. He made a mental note to consider the new information later as he reminded himself that Rihyani’s life still very much hung in the balance.

“So, you could let her die,” Milo said, keeping his tone even. “Or you could help us and save her life.”

The marquis nodded, his strange horizontal pupils fixed on Milo.

“I could, and I think I will, at least in part,” he said slowly, gauging Milo’s reaction. “I will give you something, and what you do with it will decide whether you can go and save the contessa. Also, your success or failure in this endeavor will be the deciding factor of which faction I put my support behind immediately.”

Milo stared for a second, and during the pause, Ambrose cleared his throat to speak up.

“And by immediately, you mean…”

“If you succeed, I will not only ensure you have the means to save the contessa but also that you will reach her in time,” the marquis declared solemnly. “If you fail, you will be given a day to leave my vale, and then I will call the hunt to pursue you both to the edge of the mountain's shadow.”

Milo didn’t need to study the fey’s expression to know he was serious.

“No pressure, huh?” Milo swallowed.

“Do you accept my terms and agree to abide by them?”

Milo turned and met Ambrose’s eye. He knew the answer, but he was glad to see Ambrose give